


A battle you know nothing about

by hylander



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, but fed up in a fond way, in every universe there's an imane who's fed up with their bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 03:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18930181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hylander/pseuds/hylander
Summary: Every single thing about him was perfect, Lucas had decided as soon as he had witnessed Eliott’s wide smile and soft laughter, his eyes crinkling as he talked quietly to Imane. Boy had he been wrong.OR. Lucas gets annoyed one time too many by the hottest customer he never had





	A battle you know nothing about

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote it like in an hour or so, so i apologize in advance for all the mistakes 🤷💙

_And there he is again_ , Lucas thought, somewhat bitterly, somewhat haughtily, as he pulled himself away from the countertop when the bell chimed.

He couldn’t quite prevent himself from looking up at the huge clock above the door, even though he already needed to have a third and fourth hand if he wanted to get every order out before people started screaming at him and his manager came back pestering him. It was rush hour in the small coffee shop, and the two lines snaking their way through the coffee shop, in front of him and his fellow barista Imane, were leaving them absolutely no rest whatsoever. It used to be quiet, Lucas often thought, generally when the orders started piling up. A quiet job and a quiet workplace, with quiet afternoons where Lucas could get a couple of customers but also get some work done for uni on the side. It had crashed when their manager, Alex, the chillest dude he had ever met, had resigned and had been replaced by a blonde chatterbox called Daphné, who took it upon herself to make it the new place to be. Ever since, they basically transformed themselves in octopuses with barely enough time to catch their breath twice all through their always understaffed shifts.

It was hell. Really. It was stressful and hot and Lucas was now used to burn himself on such a regular basis than he couldn’t even begin to count. People were being people, which meant they were rude and sometimes impossible to satisfy, with stupid questions and long-ass orders that just made Lucas want to roll his eyes. Problem was, he’d stopped waiting for his father’s monthly allowance to live — so he had to make some cash, one way or another, and he wasn’t really fond of selling his body to buy food. So here he was. You would think that meeting cute customers was a nice opportunity, but the hot ones rarely got interested enough to give a number, and when they happened to do so, Lucas generally found himself not interested enough to pursue it.

So there was no point in being even remotely fazed by the fact that Eliott-the-hot-customer purposefully chose Imane’s queue. _Particularly_ when it happened every. Single. Day. At first Lucas had been really, really dumbfounded. He could still remember the first time he had strolled in, one quiet afternoon — before Daphné came in the picture —, at some point last fall. He had this brown jacket on that looked so comfy, with dark, ripped skinny jeans and an adorable smile on a too-perfect face. Every single thing about him was perfect, Lucas had decided as soon as he had witnessed Eliott’s wide smile and soft laughter, his eyes crinkling as he talked quietly to Imane — so soft, so gentle, that he had surprised himself thinking he might, somehow, be her boyfriend.

Boy had he been wrong.

(And not just for the boyfriend thing.)

Eliott (he had found out about his name while casually spying on Imane when she wrote it on the Styrofoam cup) wasn’t nice. Eliott was a _fucking jerk_. He never took off his earphones, to begin with, which was on the short-list of the things people like Lucas hated the most. At all time of the day, there was always that annoying, loud music blasting from them and he couldn’t believe Imane didn’t find it rude herself.

“It’s okay, he’s always been super nice to me. I know him through my brother, so,” she had shrugged before turning her back to him.

That was how Lucas had been left with no other choice but to feel, on a daily basis, the weight of being hated by a stranger, for absolutely no reason whatsoever. It wasn’t even like he had ever gotten the chance to mess up his order, considering that Eliott was _always_ obstinately going for Imane. He could still vividly remember that time where Imane had already her hands full with four customers, and that Eliott had strutted in. Lucas was still tying his apron since his shift was only starting, when he made him sign to come over to order.

“It’s fine,” Eliott had shrugged, without moving an eyelid. “I’ll wait.”

And with that he had at least doubled the volume of his music, so much that the two girls waiting before him turned their frowning faces back to him. It was stupid, really, but how was he supposed _not_ to take this personally, as yet another rejection of some sort? His cheeks had heated up like he had been slapped, and ever since Lucas had stopped trying to look polite. He had stopped smiling whenever the bell would chime for him and he had stopped pretending like he cared that Eliott chose Imane instead of him. If he wanted to wait fifteen minutes for his drink, it was his problem.

He was fine with it.

Or at least he liked to think he was, which turned out to be a bit far from the truth. It was a Tuesday morning, and Imane had called in sick just thirty minutes before Lucas was set to open — which he found out when Daphné called him.

“Are you fucking _kidding me_? How do you expect me to manage all those customers on my own?!”

“Don’t be dramatic, Lucas,” Daphné replied far too cheerfully at this hour, “I booked Chloé to replace her, but she’s going to be a little late. Alexia will take over this afternoon as usual.”

“Great, now how am I supposed to handle _the 8.15 rush hour_ on my own?”, he protested adamantly.

“Well, I sure hope with a smile on your face,” she chirped before hanging up, leaving Lucas dumbfounded and profoundly annoyed to stare at his phone.

He wanted to scream. He really did, but the worst part was that he didn’t even _have the time_ for that. Chloé wasn’t a bad person per se, she was actually cordial and efficient and she was handling the espresso bar better than Lucas could ever dream of. On a strictly professional level, she was just as good of a coworker as Imane was.

On a personal level? That was a nightmare. She hadn’t given him more than two words in six months, ever since he had been forced to tell her blatantly after a month of hitting on him that no he wasn’t interested, no it wasn’t because he had anyone else, _no_ she’d never be a girl for him considering he didn’t want _a girl_ in the first place. Back then he was going through his finals and was stressed out because with his third roommate moving out, his friend Yann and him had struggled to pay rent for a little while, so having a twenty-year-old girl with a headache-inducing enthusiasm constantly hit on him when he was as interested in dating her as an ice-cube was to find itself in the middle of the fucking Sahara, there was a tiny, _tiny_ possibility that he might have voiced his opinion on the matter a little bit too harshly.

To his credit he had apologized after that, and although Chloé had mumbled that she forgave him at the time, they had never really talked ever since and so far, successfully managed to avoid finding themselves working side by side. _Of course_ it had to fuck up.

It was a little bit after half-past eight that Chloé made it behind the countertop to help him with the remains of the 8.15 rush, but Lucas already felt like he had been rolled over by a truck and sweated so much that his shirt would never smell anything else but coffee and sweat.

“Thanks for coming,” he groaned more than he said as the last customer walked out.

Chloé shrugged and went to grab the apron she hadn’t had the time to put on yet. Lucas wasn’t proud but he found himself pulling a stupid face at her as she was retreating. That was all her fault anyway, he wouldn’t be in this situation if she wasn’t behaving like she was 13. His mind snapped back into place when the bell chimed, but the smile he put on automatically tightened as he saw Eliott walk in.

“Isn’t Imane here?”, he asked after a second, his pace faltering a little as he remained in the doorway.

Lucas barely held back a scoff. “No,” he said bluntly, then he added: “I know how to make coffee you know. She doesn’t hold the secrets of the universe and she certainly didn’t come up with the recipe on her own.”

Eliott’s brow furrowed and he fidgeted a little, his hand still holding the handle. “Uh. Sorry. I gotta go. Bye,” he mumbled, backtracking outside.

“ _Bye_?” Lucas repeated incredulously. The bell chiming might have made it all the more comical, but it felt like the bell on a fucking boxing ring. He rushed from behind the counter and made it to the door faster than if his life depended on it — way worse, _his pride_ depended on it. He caught Eliott a couple of feet further down the sidewalk. “Hey, what’s your fucking _problem_?”, he spat out, furious, as he grabbed Eliott’s arm and forced him to turn over.

Eliott’s eyes looked a bit alarmed, panic flashing through them as he recoiled a bit, but even like that they managed to look beautiful. Why did he have to piss off the hottest guy in Paris? _What had he done wrong_?

“My problem,” Eliott repeated flatly once the initial shock dissipated. “I don’t-“

“Cut the crap!” Lucas interrupted, and he glared at the woman who walked by them with a disapproving glance. “You’re always looking down on me, you’re always going for Imane even when she’s got a shit-ton of customers, and don’t even get me started on all those ‘goodbyes’ and ‘hellos’ you never fucking returned because apparently the shitty dubstep you’re always too rude to lower well and truly damaged your stupid brain!”

Eliott slowly reached up and took off his earphones, so fucking _slowly_ that Lucas thought he might give up on his rule of never throwing hands with someone taller than him (and since he was shorter than most guys it made for a very peaceful life in the end), just for the _sake of it_. But then Eliott looked at him. Like, _really_ looked. The stormy grey color matched the cloudy sky riding low above Paris that morning.

“I’m not looking down on you,” he said, and he sounded earnest.

Lucas made the ‘bitch really’ face that Yann always called him out about (because apparently it was rude, but he wouldn’t need to be rude if people didn’t do things he needed to react rudely about in the first place).

Eliott pursed his lips a little, fiddling then starting to fold his earphones. “I think you’re cute,” he said in a small, wavering huff.

Lucas’ heart might have skipped a bit, and his anger faded away in a blink. “W-What?,” he said stupidly, taken aback.

The guy looked really uncomfortable and Lucas felt suddenly hyper-aware of the rain starting to drench him, the canopy above their heads managing to pour even more water on him than to actually shelter him. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone running in the street with only a tee-shirt on, uh?

“I- I think you’re cute,” Eliott repeated.

“Then why are you avoiding me?”

He hated the way his voice seemed to become a plea now that his anger had vanished — or maybe it was just frustration, he had always been pretty lame at putting name on his emotions.

Eliott looked down. “The place is often super crowded and loud. Imane knows my usual order and that makes it easier for me,” he said, chewing onto his lip. “I- uh. I’m hard of hearing so it’s kinda tricky.”

“Oh.” Lucas wanted to slap himself. Once, twice. A hundred fucking times. “I’m sorry,” he blurted immediately, feeling his stomach and half of his organs dive in the vicinity of his shoes. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” Eliott mumbled, waving with his hand, his earphones dangling a little. “That’s just awkward now, so I’m just- I’m gonna go, you’ve got customers waiting.”

 _What do I do now?_ Lucas thought in panic. He should probably just go back inside and go give a hand to Chloé — aka the job he was paid for. After all he had already done quite some damage that morning and it wasn’t even 10. Nevertheless, he found himself quickening his pace to catch up on Eliott, grabbing his arm more gently than the first time.

“How about you come in?”, he said quickly. “I sort these, and then you’ll give me your order and I’ll write it down so that you won’t have to wait for Imane _and Imane only_ next time?”

Eliott blushed. Was someone like him even supposed to _blush_? He would have given half the Screen Actor Guild a run for their money in a beauty contest. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Lucas said. “I’ve been an ass. It’s the least I can do.”

*

When they walked back in the coffee shop, the bell chiming cheerfully contrasted with the angry expression on Chloé’s face. Lucas shrugged it off and walked behind the countertop as she handed their orders to the trio of girls on her side. Lucas took the opportunity to grab a notepad and a pen so that he could make sure he didn’t mess another chance at _not_ being hated by Eliott.

“So, we have a double chocolate chip frappe, mocha sauce and whipped cream,” Lucas summed up, then he looked up at Eliott as he tore off the paper sheet from the pad. “I didn’t know we sold our soul to Starbucks but, eh, that’s gonna be fun.”

Eliott smiled. One of those smiles that made his eyes crinkle. One of those smiles that made Lucas feel warm, even though his tee-shirt was damp from the rain and that he knew he would start shivering in a couple of minutes, when the adrenaline would run out and that Eliott would be gone.

He didn’t want him to leave, for once.

(And not just because Chloé would start pestering him as soon as she would hear the bell on Eliott’s way out.)

He felt himself go ridiculously self-conscious as he scribbled down his name on the cup, which was stupid because for one he didn’t exactly _need to_ since Eliott was the only customer in the coffee shop at the moment, and also because Eliott would probably not even think the slightest thing about what his handwriting looked like. _Just man the fuck up_ , he admonished himself.

“There you go,” he smiled as he handed him his order. “I promise it’s going to go faster next time.”

“Thanks,” Eliott said, nodding at him with a small smile. He grabbed the cup and with a final nod, he was gone, the bell chiming as the door shut itself behind him.

Lucas didn’t really know how long he stood there, staring at the door, but when the next few customers arrived he executed himself as if on autopilot. The terrible feeling didn’t leave him for the rest of his shift, even when he made it to his flat to change his clothes in a hurry before heading on campus for his afternoon classes. This time he didn’t struggle as much as usual to put a name on it: he felt like shit, plain and simple.

He was walking back to his flat after the end of his day when he received a text from Imane.

**goodgalimane**

+33789661232, here, Eliott’s number

**lucallemant**

what am I supposed to do with this?

**goodgalimane**

for *some reason* he thinks you’re out of his league

and that he made a fool of himself

and that he’s never going to be able to look you in the eye again

and now *i’ve* got the flu

and i'm tired of telling him that you’re just a stupid goblin with big hair and an even bigger mouth

in short, you owe him that, so text him already you moron


End file.
